Let’s say you’re getting into a car with four other people. Where do you want to sit, if you’re not the driver? Probably up front. Or if you have to squish in the backseat with two other people, you want a window seat, right? You don’t want to sit in the middle, on the steering column bump, with your knees tucked up under your chin. That’s the loser seat. The loser shortest person always gets stuck in that seat.
Hey, wait, that’s me! I’m always the smallest person in the car. Last time we took a bunch of friends up to Pacific Mall, which is approximately a half-hour drive in each direction, I spent an hour stuck on the bump. And how much did I hate it?
Not at all! Because I secretly love that seat. Not for the bump itself, although, being a short-legged little twig, I’m not *un*comfortable. I love it because I get to wedge myself in all cozy-like with a couple of silly friends. Then we can giggle every time the car goes around a corner and mushes us together, yell funny things in each others’ ears, and generally act like children until the driver threatens to leave us at the side of the road. Jokingly, of course – I know he’s just jealous and would rather be in the back with us.
Yes, there is nothing quite as good for bonding as digging around under each others’ butt cheeks to find the ends of seatbelts. Everyone thinks it’s a gas when I ask my male friend “Is it in yet?” I meant his seatbelt, you perverts!
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